Holiday Pictures and such.

Below you'll find lots of photographs from our vacation to the West Coast. Unfortunately it's in reverse order, but hopefully you'll get a feel for what our trip was like.

Once we got to Thetis Island, I pretty well didn't pick up the camera again. I'm really bummed about that because I didn't capture more of our actual stay. It was an amazing time and I've got lots of stories to tell. But these pictures will have to do for now.

I'll share a quickie before I hit the hay. (It's late, we've only been home for a few hours, and I'm quite ready for my own bed.) We've spent many hours in the car over the past two weeks. Often at red lights, Gordon would study the map. When the light turned green, I tried to keep my mouth shut. (Early in our relationship I learned that Gordon can't stand when I tell him to go when the light turns green.) However he is often disengaged at stop lights and I have to bite my tongue. So over the years I've developed a most horrific twitch. When the light turns green and he's reading a map or looking the other direction, I nearly instinctively motion with my hand for him to go. Doing it this way, I feel like I'm being a good wife by keeping my mouth shut.

Today Gordon finally expressed his frustration with my hand-signalling-go-twitch. The light turned green while Gordon was reading a map. I said nothing but my hand motioned the usual.

He looked at me and dryly said, "Would you stop acting like a neurotic imbecile."

songcatcher

I got a movie at the library that I thought looked interesting. Last night the girls and I settled down to watch how a musicologist became totally captivated by Appalachian Mountain Music. It seemed harmless enough, and somewhat educational too.

Interestingly enough, there were two lesbians in the movie and I was mildly horrified to have to explain a couple scenes to my girls. I couldn't find the remote so I was jumping in front of the tv -- looking like a totally crazed woman -- shouting "shut your eyes, shut your eyes."

My girls know a healthy amount of necessary sexual information for this stage in their lives, but I am not a bit comfortable letting them see a love scene of any kind during our movie watching.

When Gordon and I went to bed he asked what all the screaming was about while we were watching the movie. I told him about the scene that had me trying to block the girls viewing and of yelling at them to close their eyes.

He pondered a second or two then, attempting to ascertain why I lesbian scene was pertinent to the movie, he asked, "why did they do that?"

Totally missing his real question, I pondered a second and responded, "I guess they were horny."

sandwiches and gordon

Today we were making sandwiches for lunch. A few were made and cut in two. Gordon took a bite out of two halves. One bite out of half 1, one bite out of half 2. It was a puzzling thing to see him do it, as it was out of character.

I must have been wearing a curious expression, because he shrugged and said, "What? I'm just marking my territory."

Sleep Walkers

Early in the morning I'll be waking the kids and sending them off to Sports' Day. They will be heading out of town with their school for a long day of fun and competition. To prepare, they went to bed early, around 7:00 actually.

Around 10:00 this evening, Hannah came to me all sleepy-eyed and said, "Mom, shouldn't we be leaving now?"

Hannah has a sleep walking history. I've gone downstairs to fetch her as she wandered around looking for the school library, I've got her out of the refrigerator when she was looking for her book report. I've found her in the potato bin looking for her spacer (dental appliance).

Now when she's walking in her sleep, I go to her and explain that she's walking in her sleep. It's really cute because she argues with me, "No Mom, my book report is right behind the mayonnaise." She'll say all kind of things that don't make a lot of sense. I'll try to reason with her and lead her back to bed.

Well tonight when she came to tell me it was time to leave I gently said, "Hannah you've only been in bed a couple hours. It's a long time till we need to leave."

She argued, "No Mom, we're supposed to be there early."

"Hannah, you're asleep. You're walking in your sleep. I'll get you to school on time. But right now you need to go back to bed," I coaxed.

"Mom, the clock said it time to leave."

"Hannah, you're walking and talking in your sleep," I answered.

She grabbed my hands and said, "No Mom, I'm awake. I am not asleep."

I finally convinced her and got her tucked back into bed without further arguing.

Poor child, she comes by it honestly. I've done a bit of walking and talking in my sleep, but not nearly as much as Gordon. He's a regular. He has improved over the years, but he still talks a lot in his sleep.

When we first got married, I wondered if I'd ever have another decent night's sleep. He talked, prayed, sang, preached, even did marriage counselling all while I laid beside him either giggling or wishing he'd shut-up.

We had overnight guest once and in the morning they asked if we always talked all night. They didn't know it was all one-sided. They heard Gordon and assumed I was in the conversation, but I wasn't.

One night he sat up in bed and said, "Ladies and Gentleman, from Charlotte North Carolina, introducing the Greeeen Woman." Go figure. I howled.

Another time he was dreaming that the girl down the hall was being robbed. He went to the door in his underwear. I asked where he was going all dressed up and he said, "Jeanine is in trouble. I need to help her get away."

There was a spell where he'd get up in the middle of the night and go set the table. We'd get up in the morning to a table set for four.

My most recent funny story,... He jerked out of bed, stood up, and started directing traffic yelling and going through all the motions. I was really amused. I said, "Gordon?"

He turned toward me with both hands raised, as in "stop your car," and said, "It's okay Honey, I'm dreaming."

"Well if your know you're dreaming why don't you stop?" I asked.

He said, "Just let me get this bus and that last car through."

Anniversary Celebration

A humble cake. My decorating skills have not improved, but my family is so so accepting of my challenges. It was delicious despite its appearance.
14 red roses for 14 years of marriage.

We had a wonderful anniversary celebration - the five of us. It was a thoroughly enjoyable evening.

On special occasions we have cheap wine that's barely alcoholic. Last night was Deborah's first time to have some (that I can remember). She downed her small portion then did a quick perusal of the table. She said, "If anyone doesn't want their wine, I'll take it." It was quite cute.

Hannah made a brief power-point presentation for us. She captured some special events in our lives. She put a lot of work into it and it was so sweet. Kids these days, eh?

And for the record: I received an email from an easy-going friend who's married to an easy-going man. She informed me that yes, it is possible to have a good marriage without all the struggles we've had. She says they've never had any serious problems (aside from the shock of a baby that cried for his first year) and they've been happily married for 20 years. (For those who are prone to skepticism, I know her and I believe her.)

Frankly I'm kind of jealous. Remember the story I've told before about someone asking us to describe our early marriage. I hesitated wondering just how I could accurately describe the horror without sounding like we hated each other. While I was trying to articulate my answer, Gordon began to quote the Larry Norman song about the last days: "Life was filled with guns and wars and everyone got trampled on the floor..." It was hilarious. I thought it described our early marriage amazingly well. :-)

Happy Anniversary to me

Today, May 22, in our 14th anniversary. It's been 14 years of work, compromise, shattered dreams, growing deeper, maturing, and living out convictions. It's been 14 years of repeatedly getting back on track with God and each other after doing it my way; laughing again after days of sadness and bitterness.

It seems we spend our lives dreaming of blissful marriages that work really well without requiring us to work. But reality is that a good marriage is work. (I've wondered if a married couple of super easy-going personalities have to work as hard. Anyone out there super easy-going and have a marriage that doesn't require lots of work? I'd seriously like to know. It seems altogether possible, but it's sure not my reality, nor have I observed it in other couples.)

I recently watched a number of Friends episodes. One of the things I liked about it was the opening song.

"No one told you life was gonna be this way.
The job's a joke, you're broke, your love life's D.O.A.
Seems you're always stuck in second gear,
When it hasn't been your day, your month, even your year.

"But I'll be there for you,
When the rain starts to pour.
I'll be there for you,
Just like I've been there before.
I'll be there for you,
Cause you're there for me too."

That song describes my marriage. When the job, the money, the kids, the body, the emotions -- when they're in a sad state, the commitment continues because, well, there's commitment.

To be truthful, this hasn't been our year. It's been a tough year. I read some statistics that said that years 13-15 are high divorce rate years. Nothing particularly bad has happened to us rather a complacency and lethargy has descended and it seems especially hard to engage and correct the "stinkin' thinkin'". But the commitment part is there -- commitment to each other, commitment to God, commitment to honoring the vows, commitment to the kids.

No matter how I'm feeling, I've always got plenty of things to be thankful for in my marriage, in my husband.

Gordon is a very committed husband. I do not worry about where he is and what he's doing. I trust him to be faithful.

Gordon is committed to his family. He loves us, wants to be with us, likes to hang out with us. He is super involved in the kids' lives. I have friends who make all the kid-related decisions. Gordon isn't like that at all. He is very involved. Gordon is more committed to Friday Family Night than I am. Plenty of times I want to postpone, but he's right there with the kids nagging me to get with the program. I never need to nag him that way. Not a great picture, but it captures his involvement in our family.

Gordon is a hard worker. He makes many personal sacrifices for the good of our family. Recently I was reminded of a terribly difficult time for us financially. Once when car insurance renewal time came up, we didn't have the money. We parked the car and didn't use it for a few months. Gordon took the bus to work in the afternoon, but at 2:00am when he got off work, the buses were no longer running. He walked the 5 miles home. He did this for several weeks and never complained.

Gordon is consistent. He is always the same person, private and public. First thing every morning he goes to his office for his quiet time with God. Always. With him focused on keeping that area of his life in good shape, we all benefit.

Gordon gives me lots of reasons to respect him. He loves his mother, honors her, respects her. I so respect that about him. He is a wonderful friend. His friends count on him and he is always a good friend. He has a good reputation at his work. He's known for his integrity.

And finally, he's never left. I've given him plenty of reasons to, but he kept on keeping on.

Yes, marriage is hard work. But I'm so very thankful for my marriage and my husband.

Happy 14th Anniversary Gordon. I love you.

Taking the Bull by the Horns

As I've told before, I easily and regularly mix metaphors and cliches. Today I said one and Gordon's come-back really tickled me.

He and I were talking about how he'd reached a solution to a work problem. I responded with, "So you decided to take the ball by the horns?"

He replied, "Actually, I'm pretty committed to keeping my hands off horny balls."

Office Chair

Gordon has a new chair at work. Actually it's not a new chair, it was used by someone else before he inherited it.

Last week he came home in the middle of the day to change pants. He said his pants were stinky. I assumed they must have been damp when I hung them and they took on a sour smell.

However he has been smelling that "stinky smell" for several days. Today it dawned on him that perhaps it was the chair. He knelt down to smell the chair and quickly discovered the odor was from the chair, not him.

He asked for a new chair and learned that the person who had the chair before him had a "problem". Gordon was greatly relieved to know he was not the source of the odor. Revealing his prior fears that the smell was himself, he said, "Man, I thought I needed to see a doctor or something."

staff appreciation

I've told you before that my part-time employer is less than desirable. There is little appreciation and affirmation to be had there. Last night though, we had a staff appreciation event. For 2 brief hours there were a few items I wanted that would be 70% off.

I told Gordon about the event and he quickly ascertained that I was about to ask for money. He said, "Staff appreciation night. Let me guess, you'll take all the appreciation you can get?"

I thought that was a very funny way of saying, "you want money, don't you?"

Maid Service

I have been less than energetic for about a year now. Okay, so maybe a year is a stretch, but a good couple weeks isn't. Today, as the house was in need of attention, I hired my sweet Rachael to clean it. She was quite elated with the job (actually it was the pay) and quickly sub-contracted her little sisters to help her.

For a few moments I entertained thoughts of grandeur and wealth before remembering the little servants were my offspring. But even after that realization, I continued to permit the illusion to continue.

Gordon came home and found me on the sofa enjoying a Francine Rivers novel as the girls busied themselves around me. Rachael quickly announced to her dad that I was paying her to clean the house and she had hired the sisters to help. I was feeling more than a tad self-conscious having been caught reclined and reading a novel as the girls hustled and bustled around me.

Looking at me, Gordon shrugged his shoulders and said, "well if you can't afford maids, I guess you can grow 'em."

Potbelly Pig

Recently we had guests who were telling about their neighbor's intentions of getting a Vietnamese Potbelly Pig. I personally think that anyone who wants to have a pet pig in the house is a bit demented, but that's just my take on the subject. If someone wants a pet pig in the house, more power to them. I'll stick to dogs.

As my friend talked about this potbelly pig that might soon become her neighbor, I was reminded of my brief, but interesting, exposure to potbelly pigs. The girls, Gordon, and I were at a petting zoo. Because of my and the girls interest in petting zoos, we have been to quite a few. At this particular one, there were a couple potbelly pigs.

My city husband and kids didn't know I was familiar with pigs, so I was quite pleased when I had opportunity to show them a few of my piggy tricks.

I told them I knew how to make the pig go to sleep standing up and make him have a sleep-induced fall over. I always love to impress my kids and this was one of my moments in the sun.

I knelt down beside the pig and he and I got acquainted while I stroked him. Soon I was scratching the underside of his belly and telling them to watch closely. In no time, Mr Potbelly Pig was swaying back and forth with his eyes closed. Then, just as I predicted, he fell over. My family was awed by my hypnotic prowess.

I continued to rub his belly as my family stood mesmerized. Soon something began to emerge from Mr Potbelly's lower belly. We were all mildly horrified, as it looked like nothing we'd ever seen. I don't know quite how to say this, but Mr Potbelly's private part was out and it was shaped just like a cork screw. It looked like a black uncooked spiral noodle. Very gross and nasty looking, to say the least.

The kids let out horrified screams and ran away. Gordon and I stared, perplexed and speechless. Gordon got his wits back before me. Thoughtfully and slowly he articulated, "That gives a whole new meaning to screwing around."

Buttons and Shoes

Our little Bear Dog has made a tasty discovery. Gordon leaves his shirts on the bedpost, (drives me crazy, but that's another story), and Bear has discovered that each shirt sports buttons. Last week Gordon had 3 shirts hanging there when Bear learned the joy of chewing buttons off, one by one. Gordon put one shirt on to discover it no longer had buttons. Frustrated, he sighed and grabbed the next shirt on the post. Alas, it had no buttons either. He huffed and puffed about the sorry dog and grabbed the third shirt. I cringed as I saw buttons missing before him. He was not happy pet owner. (He's not exactly a happy pet owner on the best of days.)

Today he went out to buy new shirts.

I remembered the first time we left Lucy unattended. We had always left her in one of the bedrooms and puppy-proofed it before we left. She seemed to have outgrown the need to damage things, so I thought she was big enough to be left to roam the house.

When we came home, it was not a pretty sight. She had chewed 3 of Gordon's shoes -- one mate from 3 pairs. Gordon uttered all kinds of threats and I feared he would send Lucy to the place where bad doggies go. He was so mad.

Later, that same day, Lucy chewed the heel off one of the shoes he had had on while we were out that morning. Gordon went as ballistic as he ever goes. He gave me, the kids, and the dog the silent treatment par excellence once he had regained his composure from ballistic-hood.

The next morning he got ready to go buy himself some new shoes. Once his jacket was on, he realized his predicament. Standing in our bedroom doorway he said, "Valerie, what do you propose I put on my feet to go out and buy shoes." I couldn't contain my laughter and even he saw the humour at that point.

A couple days later he saw I had put a good pair of my black shoes in a bag to send to Goodwill. He tried to get me to keep them. I reasoned that I didn't need them and never wore them. He said, "The way we're going, give it 24 hours and you will need them."

a strong man

After my post called A Clueless Man, my Aunt Jill left a comment regarding feminine hygiene products and strong men that buy them. Gordon is indeed a strong man, and I even have a story about that. (For the record, I've grown up a bit and Gordon's ways don't send me reeling like they use to).

In 1998 I had a miscarriage. It was a bloody affair which I have to confess if I want to tell this story (which I never felt inclined to do until my aunt left her comment).

Anyway we went to the store on a crowded Sunday afternoon. I was feeling sad and blue and generally unhappy. Gordon volunteered to go in and get products one needs when having a miscarriage in the 12th week of pregnancy. (The 12th week thing is why it was so bloody and why I include that detail.)

(Are you still with me? Sometimes I even surprise myself with the things I will put on this blog. This conversation is so not me, but I guess that is where the virtual reality thing plays out.)

When he came out the doors of the store and started walking toward the van, my mouth fell open. Sounds of emotional agony escaped from deep within me as he walked toward me with 2 huge -- I'm positive they don't make anything bigger -- bags of sanitary napkins under both arms. They weren't even in shopping bags. I contemplated lying down in the seat before he got to the van to escape notice. He looked as cool as a cucumber, no inhibitions whatsoever as he opened the door and started throwing bags of sanitary napkins in the van.

I said, "Gordon why didn't you put them in a bag and why on earth did you buy so much?"

He bought so much to give me options. Wasn't that sweet? Bless his heart, he knew he was dealing with a fragile, emotional wreck. And he didn't put them in bags because bags cost 3 cents each and he thought it was a waste of money. (Yes it's true, at that store you pay for the bags you use.)

That's my "strong male" story.

a clueless man

When Gordon and I were newly married and living in Cranbrook, we always struggled financially. It was there that I started learning to stretch the dollar. I learned how to buy in bulk, capitalize on sales, and read the flyers religiously. My shopping list was usually broken up into 3 or 4 places; Safeway, Overweightea, KMart, Canadian Tire, Shoppers Drug Mart, or Zellers. Between them, there were usually 3 or 4 stops for each pay period.

New to this expensive country, I found household items and toiletries painfully expensive and would look diligently for the least expensive razors, shampoo, toilet paper, dish soap, and the like by scouring the flyers every Thursday.

One time I saw Shoppers had their 24-roll Charmin on sale for $6.99. This was a very good price and I was quite excited. I asked Gordon to go and get some, which he was happy to do. A while later he returned with not one package, but two. 48 rolls of toilet paper. I was happy.

The next day, my friend Glady mentioned she'd seen Gordon the day before. Her expression told me there was something she wasn't saying. I didn't pursue it, but I certainly noticed.

That evening I asked Gordon about it. He couldn't think of anything unusual -- they just waved at each other as they passed when he went out for toilet paper. I was puzzled. I was sure Glady had more to say about it. I persisted, "You mean you only waved, you never spoke? You just passed on the road?," I asked.

"Yeah, she passed me going home," he replied, not understanding this interrogation.

I meditated on this a while. From the mall, Gordon and Glady both would have to head up Victoria Hill to get home. Glady wasn't exactly Cruella deVille behind the steering wheel, so I couldn't picture her zooming past Gordon on Victoria Hill. It just wasn't adding up. I was absolutely certain there was something in Glady's voice and expression that said there was something more. I was beginning to imagine horrible things Gordon may have been doing when he got "caught" by Glady. I entertained thoughts that Glady wanted to talk "woman to woman" and tell me something that would devastate me. As I pondered these irrational thoughts, I worked up a good amount of suspicion.

Smugly, I approached the subject again. "You expect me to believe that you and Glady were driving up Victoria Hill when she blew past you like you were standing still?"

Totally puzzled, he looked at me with a you're weird scowl. "I wasn't driving, Valerie. I was on my bike," he said.

Still in my interrogation mode, I said, "You went to buy 24 rolls, (pause), oh my gosh, you got 48 rolls of toilet paper on your bike? You went and bought 48 rolls of toilet paper on your bike? Oh Gordon, I am so embarrassed. How did you get them home?"

"It was no big deal. When I was leaving I decided to take the bike. I got some bungee cords to strap the toilet paper on with," he explained with no presence of guile.

Slowly the story was unfolding before me and it rang true for who I was discovering my new husband to be. I pictured him pedaling up Victoria Hill being invigorated by nature, waving cheerfully as he saw people he knew. There was nothing wrong with this, except the 48 rolls of toilet paper strapped on the bike.

I groaned with shame and wondered who saw him. How could anyone be so unconcerned about the opinions of others that they would not even recognize the possibility that 48 rolls of tp strapped on back of a mountain bike was a bit over-the-top?

I fretted and ranted something to the tune of why didn't you take the car? for five minutes. I raged, "Do you know what we do with that stuff?"

With mock cowardice he replied, "Well yeah, actually I do."

I yelled, "Well now all of Cranbrook knows and they're probably wandering why you and I need 48 rolls badly enough for you to bungee cord them to your bike."

Gordon has always maintained I care too much what others think. I realized he was sitting there proud of himself for not caring and really liking me letting out guttural groans of embarrassment. All I could think was, he's clueless! I married a clueless man!

I phoned Glady. She told me where they had seen Gordon and how the toilet paper was stacked precariously on the back of the bike; how he couldn't actually sit as he rode because the tp took up so much space. She told me she and Al had pulled up behind "some really sick person" on a bike and they howled with laughter at the poor person. Then they passed him and saw it was Gordon and he gave them a cheerful, un-self-conscious wave.

Crazy

Crazy people get a bad rap, ever notice? I like crazy people. I find them refreshingly transparent.

When my family was together in November there were all kinds of strange and unusual things that happened. I will say, to our credit, that none of us saw Elvis or any UFO's. But in other areas, we may seem pretty tilted.

During one particular crazy conversation in my mom's living room, my niece Misty said, "We don't relegate crazy people to institutions or basements. We bring them out in the open for family entertainment." It was a fitting observation.

There use to be a television show about four Southern ladies called Designing Women. I respected and wanted to be like Julia. She was cool-headed, grounded, intelligent, and the wisest of the four. My brother-in-law always accused me of being like Suzanne. (I think her name was Suzanne - years ago, can't be sure). Suzanne was petulant, snarky, shallow, and self-absorbed. I didn't particularly like her character. In my mind, I was Julia.

Once Julia got particularly perturbed with some one's discrimination of a less fortunate soul. With feisty conviction she rebuked, "Here in the south, we are per-roud of our crazy people." (That word was southern for "proud").

Since I'm talking about Designing Women, my favorite Suzanne scene went like this: She was up north and was at a social event with some proper, sophisticated, arrogant women. She was feeling a bit looked down upon, but was nervously trying to contribute to the conversation. She asked some of the ladies, "So where ya'll from?" One of the snotty women replied, "Do you realize you just ended that sentence with a preposition?" Suzanne quickly retorted, "I am so sorry. Let me try that again. Where ya'll from, Bitch?" I howled.

I am no stranger to crazy people. They seem to really like me and want to be my friend. Gordon is no stranger to the less fortunate either. I could write a small book on encounters he or I have had. I love his stories about dealing with drunks, mentally challenged, disoriented, and crazy people. He is so kind to them and I respect him for it. The nature of his job seems to take him into all kinds of weird worlds. But even before this job, he seemed to always be there for those society looks down on.

Once we were at a live theatre. Sitting beside us was a downs-syndrome couple. They were close to 30 and were married, complete with brass wedding rings. During the performance there was a scary scene. It really wasn't scary at all, but to this downs-syndrome lady, it was. She jumped on Gordon's lap, buried her face in his neck and cried. Her husband stared blankly at her. Gordon patted her on the back and promised her she would be okay. She sat there until the intermission.

Occasionally we'd see them in town and they would always hug Gordon first. That is just the kind of person he is. People open up to him all the time.

Recently he had an experience that was so funny. Now I promise you, he gets this kind of thing often, but this particular scenario was a first.

He was called to a scene where there was trouble. The trouble is irrelevant to this story. But during his time at the scene he met a man who very matter-of-factly claimed to be Jesus Christ. In Gordon fashion, he engaged the fellow in conversation and even gave him a ride to a homeless shelter.

On the drive the man opened up about the hardships of being Jesus Christ. Being Jesus Christ in Edmonton in 2007 isn't an easy life. For one, no one respects you. Seems like everyone and their dog knows that part in the Bible about "turning the other cheek" and that is what he's always expected to do when someone tries to steal his bottle of whiskey.

Even his family treats him with hostility. His younger brother is so jealous of him and his being famous and all that he tried to sabotage the whole thing. His brother, in a fit of jealousy, started a rumor claiming to be the real Messiah. Gordon's new acquaintance was royally "pissed off" by his brother's claim.

Gordon listened with patience and amusement and interjected an occasional question. One question was what his brother calls him. He answered, "J.C. It's shorter that Jesus Christ and it doesn't call so much attention to me."

J.C. asked Gordon if he'd ever read the Bible and Gordon said he had. JC offered to explain things to him because "some people just don't get it."

Gordon asked him where he was born and his answer was Edmonton. Curious, Gordon gently asked JC why the Bible says Jesus's birthplace was Bethlehem. Without missing a beat, JC said that that part about Bethlehem wasn't precisely accurate. "I was born right here in Edmonton. That part about Bethlehem is to keep the whole world from flocking to Edmonton to see me."

Gordon dropped JC off at the shelter. As he swaggered in, JC swore at some "low-lifes".

Cabbage Problems

Earlier in the week one of our meals had cabbage as the main ingredient. Cabbage produces copious amounts of gas. At one point Gordon said, "I think we'd better turn off all the pilot lights before we blow this place up."

BUT

Gordon just read a business article challenging managers not to use the word "but." But cancels out every thing said before it. But really means "behold my underlying truth," the article admonished.

Today I said something just a little on the crass side. Gordon smiled and rebuffed, "Valerie, your but is showing."

(Get it? Your "behold your underlying truth" is showing.) Don't you just hate it when your jokes aren't quite defined enough to know for sure if others get 'em?

Godly Leadership

A few days ago Gordon and his friend talked about godly leadership as a husband. More specifically, how to lead without being overbearing. (Between you and me, Gordon is good at both leading and being overbearing. Unfortunately, I am too.)

Gordon was sharing this conversational tidbit tonight and indeed I found it interesting.

Later as we sipped tea together, he asked if I'd noticed he mopped the hall and kitchen while I was at work. I looked at the floor and wondered how on earth I hadn't noticed. I was excited and quickly quipped, "Now that's the kind of leadership I can affirm."

Another Day of Work

I've decided to take another work day. I told my boss I'd do this each week, but was clear if it was not working for the family, I'd let her know within the month. So we shall see. I don't foresee any problems.

Last night Gordon asked if there was anything particular I wanted to do with that extra money. (Grant it, it won't be much.) I paused for a few seconds before I answered, "I can't think of anything, so I guess not. But if I say I want some money, you'd better say, 'how much?'"

Gordon Quips Again

Yesterday Gordon and I were in the bedroom together. He was distracted on the computer, I stood beside him "instructing" him on something. Getting no response from him, I threatened, "If you don't pay some attention to me, I'm gonna give you the dreaded silent treatment."

He countered, "No, not the silent treatment. I can't bear it when you're quiet."